


It was half past twelve

by Quite_Exploded



Category: Raffles - E. W. Hornung
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 15:40:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30057726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quite_Exploded/pseuds/Quite_Exploded
Summary: Raffles’ thoughts on the Ides of March.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6





	It was half past twelve

It was half past twelve when A.J. Raffles leant out the window into a moonless London night, the smoke from his Sullivan cigarette mixing with the swirling, sultry fog. Beneath him, deep below a bank of fog, stretched the Albany courtyard. A thin rectangle of cobblestones surrounded on all sides by the Albany itself. Tonight those walls looked on with blank, sightless eyes as there wasn’t a light on in the whole building but his. Raffles felt he might be the only person awake in all of London at that very minute. How exhilarating and yet how lonely. 

Raffles stubbed out his cigarette with a sigh. In many ways it was a perfect night. In all senses he should be perfectly content. This he told himself as he shrugged off his jacket and loosened his collar. Then for the hundredth time that night he picked up the slip of paper tossed oh so casually on the bedside table. He looked it over, taking in every loop of the lettering, every curve of the words and the blot of a half fingerprint in the left hand corner. It was a delicately penned cheque for two hundred pounds. The same cheque he’d fleeced off an old school fellow earlier that evening. 

Raffles felt a cold, squirm in his gut when he dwelt on how he’d won it. Nothing, as far as Raffles could see, was about to change that. Never mind that he hadn’t, technically, cheated. He’d been, unlike his three opponents, both well versed in baccarat and sober. What’s more the purpose of the late night gathering had been to soundly beat the whole lot of them at baccarat. He’d picked the field, the time of play and the members of the opposing team. And while none of this was entirely fair he was fairly desperate for cash in hand. 

Baccarat hadn’t been his original plan. Winning at baccarat was doing things by halves if anything was. The game was only half illegal and the risk wasn’t a risk at all for Raffles. His original plan however was all risk, all reward. There was a jewelers store in Bond Street he’d been scouting for some time now. A difficult crib to crack but that, of course made the rewards sweeter. What’s more the owner Danby had some rather strong views on moral reform that rankled Raffles. And a small slice of revenge was surely in store for a man who boasted he’d “rather lose a year's income than sell fripperies to dandys and men of that sort.” The revenge by way of burglary had come together with one fatal flaw, it required two pairs of eyes, not one. 

The experience left Raffles out of pocket and unsatisfied. Really the money, that cheque, was a boon. Still Raffles found himself seated on his bed, glaring at the hateful slip of paper in hand. Earlier in the week he’d spotted an old school fellow crossing Baker Street. He sensed the era of their friendship immediately but it had taken him several minutes to place the young man specifically. But Bunny, for that was the nickname, had greeted him with such unabashed enthusiasm he’d warmed to all over again. He’d said something along the cliched lines of “come any time.” 

But he hadn’t seen the boy, the man now, in ten years and it seemed it’d be another ten before their paths crossed again. Certainly Raffles hadn’t thought his old school fellow would invite himself over at such a late hour. The young rabbit he remembered lacked the confidence to show up unannounced on anyone’s doorstep at any hour. It was clear Bunny hadn’t expected a game of barract to be in full swing. But was so quickly drawn into the game that Raffles had quite missed the opportunity to ask Bunny why he was there. And while that particular little mystery was intriguing, Raffles had work to do and money to make. 

So he’d delt and fresh hand and watched the innocent Bunny fall right into his trap, the same as the rest. Better than the rest in fact. Raffles’ ploy was a simple one. He began by feigning confusion, “Hold up, do I draw or discard now?” and he ended by closing in for the kill, “Beginners luck, what can I say?” Raffles was sure some of them had twigged to it, but by then it was far too late to protest it. Bunny, on the other hand, sat by his side all evening. All the while patiently explaining the rules he didn’t fully understand himself, long after the rest had fallen back on snide remarks. And Bunny had lost splendidly, to everyone. At least he had the money for it. And yet, it wasn’t cricket, Raffles thought. He had a feeling down to his bones that this wasn’t to be borne. 

Raffles got smoothly to his feet and turned back to the window letting the cheque flutter from his fingers to the floor. He would simply have to find Bunny again, take him for a drink perhaps. And, if not confesses exactly, find some way to make amends. As Raffles moved to draw the curtains he spotted something far below. Below the bank of fog was a face. A small face, looking up towards the one lit window. And while the man, in a frock coat and hat, was too far away to be confidently identified he stirred a memory in Raffles mind. A memory of looking up at the one lit window of a dormitory and searching out assurance in the face he found there.


End file.
